The Wife Who Ran Away

by Tess Stimson

  ‘Kate?’ Keir says, instantly concerned.

  I pick up the envelope. Fisher Lyon Raymond, it says in the corner.

  And beneath: Divorce and Family Law Solicitors.

  No. 2300 of 2012

  IN THE PRINCIPAL REGISTRY FAMILY DIVISION

  BETWEEN

  EDWARD MICHAEL FORREST

  Petitioner

  -and-

  KATHERINE JANE DRAYTON FORREST

  Respondent

  The Petition of Edward Michael Forrest shows that:

  1. On the 8th day of April 1997, the Petitioner Edward Michael Forrest was lawfully married to Katherine Jane Drayton Forrest (hereinafter called “the Respondent”) at the Catholic Church of Our Lady of Succour in the District of Salisbury in the county of Wiltshire.

  2. The Petitioner and the Respondent last lived together as husband and wife at The Oast House, Uppingham Lane, Little Wishford, Wiltshire.

  3. The Petitioner is a Journalist and still resides at the marital home in Little Wishford, and the Respondent is a Client Service Director and is believed to reside at Via Appia Antica 270, Rome, Italy.

  4. There are two children of the family now living, namely:-

  Guy Charles Hawthorne Forrest born on 17th January 1995 to the Petitioner and his former wife, Liesl Imogen Forrest; and Agness Juliet Forrest born on 30th December 1997.

  5. No other child now living has been born to the Petitioner during the marriage

  6. There are or have been no proceedings in any court in England and Wales or elsewhere with reference to the marriage or between the Petitioner and the Respondent with reference to any property of either or both of them.

  7. There are or have been no proceedings in the Child Support Agency with reference to the maintenance of any child of the family.

  8. There are no proceedings continuing in any country outside of England and Wales which relate to the marriage or are capable of affecting its validity or subsistence.

  9. The said marriage has broken down irretrievably.

  10. The Respondent has deserted the Petitioner and behaved in such a way that the Petitioner cannot reasonably be expected to live with the Respondent.

  11. Particulars

  1. The Respondent who is a Client Service Director for a well-known advertising agency is completely absorbed by her work and has, throughout the marriage, devoted the majority of time to it, even to the extent of cutting short family holidays and working at weekends. Additionally, she would volunteer for additional assignments, increasing her workload to the extent that there has been virtually no family life. Even when the Respondent was at home, she spent a good deal of time in her office and was not at all involved with the children, or the family, except on sporadic occasions.

  2. The Petitioner, therefore, has had to take responsibility for the children throughout and has had to make a social life for himself apart from the Respondent who was not there to share it most of the time and who, when she came home from work, did not want to go out in the evenings.

  3. The Respondent has been particularly obsessed by her work for the last eighteen months, fearing that internal power struggles within her company would lead to the loss of her employment. These fears induced volatile mood swings which made for an uneasy atmosphere in the home which had its effect upon the children.

  4. During the last eighteen months the sexual life between the parties has been extremely sporadic and sexual relations between the parties took place on fewer than six occasions in the last 12 months of the marriage.

  5. On the morning of April 11th the Respondent left the marital home to go to work in her usual fashion. She did not return home that night, and made no attempt to inform the Petitioner as to her whereabouts. Since this was not unusual, the Petitioner was not initially concerned. However, after three days when the Respondent had still not returned nor responded to numerous telephone and electronic mail messages from both the Respondent and her employer, the Petitioner believed he had no option but to inform the police. The Petitioner was subjected to rigorous and humiliating questioning over two days before it was established by the police on April 15th that the Respondent had, of her own free will, flown to Rome, Italy, withdrawing a substantial sum from the marital account before doing so.

  6. On April 16th, the Petitioner had a telephone conversation with the Respondent, during which she informed him that she did not intend to return to him or to the marital home.

  7. Since that date, the Respondent has made no further contact with the Petitioner, or with either of the children of the family.

  Ned

  Nicholas Lyon was right. Seeing everything on paper in black and white certainly focuses the mind. He’s managed to get it all on just two pages. The story of my marriage: from hopeful beginning to bitter end.

  On the 8th day of April 1997, the Petitioner Edward Michael Forrest was lawfully married to Katherine Jane Drayton

  I remember being so frigging nervous that morning that I covered my chops with toothpaste instead of shaving foam. I’d scraped one side of my face raw before I clued in to the minty smell.

  Right up until the moment I saw Kate walk down the aisle, her Jessica Rabbit curves accentuated by that smoking cream fish-tailed dress, I was terrified she was going to come to her senses and change her mind. But as soon as she saw me turn towards her in front of the altar, her gaze locked on to mine like a heat-seeking missile and held it all the way. She was all on her own: no bridesmaids because she didn’t want to make a fuss, and no proud father to give her away either: the bastard had refused to come to the wedding because she’d agreed to a Catholic service to keep my old mum happy. Papists, he called us. Like it was still the bloody Middle Ages.

  It was just Kate and me, the two of us against the world, standing together in front of the altar. I thought I was the luckiest man on the planet.

  I kept on thinking that, even after she got the job at Forde’s and started working all the hours God sent. When she fell for Agness just a couple of months after we got married, it was a bit of a shock, obviously, but we soon got past that: I don’t suppose Kate even remembers now how upset I was at first. It would’ve been nice to have had another baby, but it didn’t happen, and I was OK with that too. I’d have walked barefoot over broken glass for my daughter.

  Maybe I did put a bit of pressure on Kate, looking back. Guy was a good kid, but Kate had effectively gone from having no children to two in barely a year. Perhaps pushing for a third so soon was asking too much. But it’s not like I wasn’t prepared to do my bit. I was the one staying at home with them, after all.

  The Petitioner . . . had to take responsibility for the children throughout

  OK, so I wasn’t that brilliant at juggling work and the kids. I’ve got to hand it to Eleanor: I’d never have held it all together if she hadn’t helped out back then. It wasn’t just looking after Guy and Agness that was the problem, either. I thought the freelance lifestyle would be a breeze, but I missed the buzz of the newsroom more than I’d expected. It got me down. I hated sitting at home all day staring at the computer screen, with only a trip to the kitchen for another coffee to break the monotony. I was jealous of Kate going off to the office every day. Each night she had to work late felt like a slap in the face.

  The Petitioner . . . had to make a social life for himself apart from the Respondent who was not there to share it . . . and who . . . when she came home from work, did not want to go out in the evenings.

  Christ. I sound like a total fucking dick. She’s working her arse off to pay the bills and coming home too knackered to speak, and I’m whining because I have to go down the pub on my own every night. Kate’s lawyer will piss his pants laughing when he reads this.

  I rub my hands wearily over my face. Kate’s a workaholic, yes, but it’s not her fault my career went down the crapper. It was just easier to blame her than look in the mirror. I should have told Kate how I felt and got off my arse and gone back to the newsroom. Instead, I let the resentm
ent build up and fester and then took it out on her for making a success of her own career.

  It wasn’t all bad, though, was it? We had some good times. Look at last Christmas Eve, when the four of us got out Twister and ended up making a family pretzel. We were all crying with laughter by the end of it. Or that time a couple of years ago when we were snowed in and sat down in front of the fire to watch the entire first three series of Lost from start to finish. There have been some great family moments in there. Sporadic? Maybe – but isn’t that just par for the course? No one’s life is a montage of rom-com shots. You just have to hope the good stuff outweighs the shit when you get to the end.

  OK, I knew Kate wasn’t happy, but I honestly had no idea it was so bad she’d end up running away from us all. Well, running away from me. I can’t blame the kids. I was the one who screwed things up. The words jump out of the page at me. No other child now living. Losing the baby in February was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but the truth is that our marriage had been unravelling for a long time – years – before that happened. And I did nothing to stop it.

  We can all be Monday morning quarterbacks, as they say in the US; it’s easy to spot the mistakes now, when it’s all there in front of you in black and white. All I can say is it wasn’t so bloody obvious at the time.

  The said marriage has broken down irretrievably.

  . . . informed him that she did not intend to return to him or to the marital home.

  I throw the paper down. I can’t bear to read any more. What the fuck was I thinking, serving this shit on her? The lawyer has made it all sound like Kate’s fault, because that’s his job. But when it comes down to it, what’ve I really got to bitch about? What was so ‘unreasonable’ about her behaviour? She worked too hard? She was fucking terrified she was going to lose her job and everything would blow up in her face? It’s not like I ever pulled my weight on that score. If she stopped earning, we were all screwed. Jesus. I was a fucking bum. A leech. Yeah, OK, she left me. Deserted me, as Lyon puts it. If I’d been Kate, I’d have walked out years ago.

  Going to the lawyer was a huge mistake. If Kate’s been wavering, if there was a chance she did still plan to come home, I’ve just slammed the door in her face. I should never have taken things this far. Lyon knew that, I realize suddenly. He tried to stop me. It wasn’t Kate he ever intended to shake up by putting it all on paper. It was me.

  ‘Dad?’

  Maybe it’s not too late. I could phone her, explain I never meant things to go this far. We can call off the lawyers and put things back the way they were. It’s not as if she did something unforgiveable, like have an affair or run away with another man. I don’t think I could ever get past that. But I understand why she left. I can forgive her if she’ll just give me a second chance—

  ‘Dad!’

  I jump. Guy is hovering in the doorway to my office. He looks like shit, I notice. His clothes are filthy, and he obviously hasn’t taken a shower in days.

  ‘Dad, can I talk to you?’

  ‘Does it have to be now?’

  He stares at the floor and mutinously chews his lip. I never know what to say to Guy. Kate was always so much better with him than me.

  ‘Come on, then,’ I sigh. ‘Out with it.’

  He looks up. The expression in his eyes is that of a frightened, feral animal, and I suddenly feel a sweep of pity for the poor bastard. Losing Kate’s been hard on him, too. I’ve been so worried about Agness and money and all the rest of it, my son’s kind of got lost in the mix. But before he can spit it out, we’re interrupted by the sound of my mobile. I hold up a hand to tell him to wait, and check the number. Shit. I’ve been waiting for the bank to call all morning.

  ‘Sorry, Guy,’ I say, shrugging apologetically. ‘I’ve got to take this.’

  He leaves without a word. If it was important, he’ll come back.

  ‘Don,’ I say easily into the phone. ‘Where are we at?’

  By the time I end the call, I’m a free man. For the first time in my life, I don’t have a single debt to my name: I’ve paid off the bookies, my credit cards, even the bloody mortgage. I’ve made two hundred grand in a matter of weeks and I’m walking away without a scratch. I should feel on top of the world.

  Funny how none of it seems to matter any more.

  Guy

  Dessler’s an asshole, but he’s smart. He keeps his head down and his nose clean. Never gets caught with blood on his hands. Death by a thousand keystrokes, that’s more Dessler’s style.

  He’s the one behind this freaking sick page: www.GuyForrestShouldKillHimself.com. It’s already had over a thousand hits, and it’s only been up two days.

  Fucking trolls. What kind of sad bastard gets off posting shit like this?

  Chewing my free thumbnail, I move the cursor down the page. The red text stands out like blood against the black background.

  You fuckin homo you don’t disserve 2 live I hope they hold u down and shove hot rods up ur ass.

  Kill yourself or we’ll do it for you.

  Guy Forrest should be carved up with rusty scythes and his remains poured into a cement mixer.

  Why don’t you just fucking do yourself now and help the planet by dying, you loser?

  They’d never write this stuff if they had to put their real names to it. Miserable fucking cowards.

  It’s not just this website, either. They keep trolling my Facebook page, writing all kinds of sick stuff. It’s like they’ve got nothing to do but post their slime. I’ve got used to the texts, but this is taking things to the next level. I mean, everyone can read this stuff. People who don’t even know me scent blood in the water and jump on the bandwagon. Mob mentality. I know it’s all crap and I shouldn’t give a shit what these morons say, but it gets to you, you know?

  I slam my laptop shut. Who gives a fuck? Trolls only post to get a reaction, everyone knows that. If you don’t feed them, they soon give up and look elsewhere.

  There’s a tentative knock at the door. A beat, then Agness cracks it and puts her head round. ‘Can I come in?’

  I shrug, though right now I could use the company.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘How d’you think?’

  ‘Ignore them,’ Agness says. She wanders over to my shelves and starts fiddling with my computer shit. ‘They’ll soon get bored.’

  ‘Yeah? And what would you know?’

  ‘I know none of this crap matters out in the real world,’ she says tartly. ‘Don’t let it get to you. Those losers’ll end up stacking shelves in Tesco while you’re off inventing a cure for cancer or something. You’ll probably end up running the country, and then you can cut all their benefits for being tossers.’

  I take the salvaged hard drive out of her hand and put it back on the shelf. ‘Was there something you actually wanted, or did you just come to bug the shit out of me?’

  ‘He’s done it,’ she says, slumping next to me on the bed. ‘Dad. He’s fled for divorce.’

  Now she has my attention. ‘No shit,’ I exclaim. ‘Did he tell you that?’

  ‘I saw a copy of the papers on his desk.’

  ‘Fucking moron. What’d he go and do that for?’

  ‘I think it’s my fault,’ she says guiltily. ‘I told him to take charge and do something. I meant he should go to Italy and persuade her to come back, not get a divorce!’

  I reach for a tin on the shelf behind me and take out a packet of Rizlas and some weed. ‘Relax. It’ll never happen.’

  ‘He’s posted them already! They’re going to get divorced and we’ll have to sell the house and you’ll probably have to go and live with Liesl, and I’ll be stuck on my own with Dad or living on the streets with druggies and winos and rapists! We’ll never see each other again!’

  ‘Would you stop,’ I sigh, crumbling the weed into the Rizla paper and rolling the joint between my fingers. ‘No one’s going anywhere.’

  ‘Stop saying that! Mum’s been gone, like, three months alread
y. What’s to stop Dad getting divorced if he wants? And then what’ll happen to us?’

  ‘He’s just mad, is all. Once he calms down, they’ll sort it all out.’

  I lick the edge of the Rizla and roll it together. I’m about to light it, but Agness suddenly looks like she’s about to burst into tears. I put the joint down and ease my arm around her, and she buries her face in my shoulder like she used to do when she was little. I suddenly feel way grown-up and protective. She’s held it all together so well since Kate left, I forget she’s just a kid. She’s really matured this last three months. It’s hard to believe what a brat she used to be. For the first time in years, it feels like we’re friends.

  ‘I don’t think Mum’s ever coming back,’ Agness mumbles, her voice small. ‘Guy, what’s going to happen to us?’

  ‘Shhhh. It’s going to be OK,’ I say. I rub her back gently. ‘She just needs some space, that’s all. She’ll come back when she’s ready.’

  Agness lifts her white face to look at me. ‘D’you think it’s our fault she left?’

  I hesitate. I don’t want to make her feel worse, but I don’t want to lie to her either. ‘A bit,’ I say finally. ‘But mostly I think it had to do with Dad.’

  ‘I don’t blame her for going,’ Agness says, surprising me. ‘I was a total bitch, and so was Gran. Dad didn’t even know she existed most of the time. You’re the only one who was ever nice to her.’

  I give Agness’s shoulders a final squeeze and let go to light the spliff. ‘Forget it. She knows you didn’t mean it.’